


Just Another Day

by Bofur1



Series: Pound, Pound, Far Underground [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Character Development, Character Study, Crimes & Criminals, Gangs, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Multi, Questions, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one female in the Ring of the Underground, Oreeve ponders her fellow crime-lords and wonders why they seem to have so much to be thankful for and she doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day

In crime-lord standards, this had to be one of the most boring times of the year, Oreeve thought sadly. Khajimudolzekh, or “Give Thanks” Day, was a day regular families were locked in their houses eating food they didn’t deserve. At the very least Oreeve was glad it was a day the commoners were _trying_ to be thankful for what they had.

The crime-lords weren’t exactly family, but they weren’t exactly strangers either. They worked together or against each other whenever it suited them. Right now it suited Oreeve to complain to someone who would listen about her boredom, but no one was with her.

Fori was off with that Dwarrowdam of his, the maniacal sturdiness that made him who he was probably melting away into nothing while he lavished praise on his wife. And of course she would accept it and not give anything in return, Oreeve thought bitterly. That’s all marriage was, really—two people taking advantage of each other. She’d never thought she would see the Blade-Driver so hypnotized, but however that played out was not her problem.

Tras was exercising the odd habit that emerged every year around this time—cooking. Oreeve remembered visiting him one time and snagging some pork. It had been surprisingly good, but she had to wonder why he was creating an elaborate meal when he had no one to share it with. She and the other crime-lords knew that Tras Earthmantle had no family. Perhaps he was getting lost in memories, Oreeve mused, memories where there were a few more seats set at the table. If she recalled correctly, there had been a few full plates last time she’d gone.

Ardofir was training as he did every day. “Give Thanks” Day had no special meaning; for Ardofir Broadbasher, it was just another day. Oreeve had watched him these past few years and she knew exactly what he would do once he tired of training by himself. He would get off the ground from his pushups, look around to see if anyone was watching, and then quickly pack up, bolting over to Tras’s so he could raid his friend’s house of good food that he wouldn’t have to share. Tras wouldn’t mind; it was very strange, but he only minded sharing food he’d stolen, not food he’d made.

Cellanar was like Fori, except a bit more extreme—he temporarily closed all his operations, packed his things and went on a trip to visit his wife and daughter. Oreeve once asked him why he never just moved them closer to the Slums so he wouldn’t have to go to such lengths for a visit, but he had simply told her in that strange accent of his, “M’ Jelden an’ Joniver are much too close already, lass.” Oreeve had never really understood that and decided that perhaps Cellanar’s title shouldn’t have been Chaos-Breaker but Confusion-Bringer.

Datli was in the one place Oreeve actually liked: the pub. He didn’t go to drink, however, but to gather information on some of the delirious tenants so he could dig into his chain of blackmail victims as soon as the holiday was over. He was a down-to-earth, happy-go-lucky blackmailer, which Oreeve had to admit she found a bit disturbing. She also should’ve expected him to kill the extorted if they ratted on him—His name was Datli Steelspin and he lived up to it. But Oreeve still kept her distance.

Ralmod...It was difficult for Oreeve to keep track of him, but she had a feeling he was off strolling through the higher-up areas of the town like he belonged there, drinking in his surroundings and making opinions as always. Oreeve found him rather irritating, as he was always thinking and giving people ideas instead of doing them himself. She could picture the Emberskull now, poking his head in through a window to tell a family that they were slicing their meat against the grain.

And she, Oreeve Onyxhide, was here—the one crime-lord, the one Dwarrowdam crime-lord, who had absolutely nothing to do but think. Oreeve didn’t like to be in the quiet with herself very often because her mind would wander to her brothers, Ravree and Renor, who had long-since been lost. If they were here...well, if they were here, _she_ wouldn’t be.

It was Khajimudolzekh, “Give Thanks” Day, and Oreeve continued to ponder the other crime-lords, the Slums, and that answerless question of what she had to be thankful for. Just as she did every year.


End file.
